ExtraOrdinary
by StuffedLion
Summary: You look, but you do not see. Is the world to you a simple background, the same old everyday? Or do you see, see what's bound up in the simple things? And through the eyes of a newborn, what's out there? A series of drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: I don't own Tron, only the drabble here before you._

_Snow._ That's what it's called, by so many. But the foreign languages do a far better job of capturing its different forms. (1)

Lightness that floats down, sometimes in clumps, and sometimes in tiny shapes that melt the moment you get too close trying to see the little points and indents. Sometimes calm, sometimes an unrelenting barrage against your exposed face. Purity that melts on your tongue.

Glittering snow, catching the light, little sparkles as you walk past, tiny imitations of the bright sun above. Marvel at the untouched, the vast expanse of white.

Dry, powdery snow stirred up as people speed down icy slopes. Wet snow that can be formed into men and walls and globes, the kind of snow which people curse at when they get stuck in it. Brown snow, pressed into the road by motorcycles and other vehicles. Warm, then sudden cold again, then one must be careful of the ice hidden underneath the snow, or find yourself spread-eagled on the ground, wondering what happened, while he tries hard not laugh, and offers you a gloved hand. One that you take, feeling the cold cloth as you pull him down in retaliation.

Snow flying, over you and into you as you fly down the hill on a toboggan. The wind whistling, laughing as it tosses your hood back. The small feeling of flight when your path takes you off a bump, the impact as you land, the small disappointment when momentum can take you no farther. The struggle back up the hill, sometimes slipping back a bit. When you nearly crash into someone else, forcing you to wipe out to avoid freezing tears and snot of far younger people.

The snow slipped down your coat, the snow thrown angrily (though only momentarily) at his laughing face. The small powder waves that ripple when cars roll by, stirring up the dry coldness. The young people laughing and diving into it, making reptile feet and winged beings and stomping out words to those far above the surface. The blocks of crusted snow that mock you as you gingerly step on it, only to fall through as the softness hiding underneath invades your boot. The same crust that can be carefully 'cut' and made smooth, made into shapes and 'Hey, doesn't this look like a-?'

The snow piled up in mountains and valleys against the window, more and more layers growing unseen as the days and nights pass. Snow watched as hot chocolate is finished, cup after cup, the foam on your lips quickly wiped/licked away, tongues scalded when too eager to have a sip. A blanket, white line patterns on a black background, protecting you from shudders and goosebumps. A blanket that flaps as he joins you, sitting together after a day of working the company into better shape, his voice soft as he reads of faraway places, ideas people had, the universe, the possibilities out there.

This is snow, this is winter, this is what comes of it.

AN: Ok, I know Sakora-Rose has got something similar, but I wrote it before I became aware, and I'll be focusing on the physical more. Sakora was kind enough to give permission for this too... so there you go.

If I remember correctly, the Inuit have around 17(?) different words for snow.

Should I continue? Do you like the style, or should I use something else? Tell me what you think! In other words, R&R if you want to see more!

I live off reviews. It's like Christmas feasts without having to worry about overeating: you can never, EVER, have enough feedback.


	2. People Watching

Hundreds, thousands, pass you and him. They run, walk, jog, saunter, skip, dance their way to their destinations. Or they're just wandering. No goal in mind, simply enjoying the world around them. No rush at all. Just enjoying the life they have, what they see, what's a part of them.

Some of them old, slowly shuffling, some more than others, to who knows where. The grocery store, to buy some food? Going to buy a gift for a grandchild? Visiting the doctor? One of them smiles, and starts walking a bit faster, as two blurs come and wrap their short little arms around her slightly hunched figure. Loud chattering, two voices speaking at the same time, pitch and volume rising rapidly, until the elderly woman chuckles, and holds her hands out to them. She continues walking with them, asking them to slow down, which they oblige to, and slowly tell her all that they want to share. You watch them until they are swallowed by the ever-shifting crowd.

_Life at its finest. Being with the ones who bring you simple joy. No real need for anything more than that, the simple pleasure at being with someone you love, and who loves you in return._

Here, a man in a business suit strides past. Not running, as it isn't _dignified_, or whatever his reason may be, but not walking either. He speaks constantly into a headset, his voice tight with anger and irritation. His eyebrows form valleys in-between, a frown pulling his face into ugliness. With a sigh, he stops, kneads his forehead into a passable smoothness, and pulls it a piece of paper. What's on it, you've no idea, but a smile grows, and he starts walking again, off to face his work day trials. He, too, merges with the masses.

_What lives we lead. Some for no reason other than to pay bills, survive life's challenges. But there is surviving, and then there is living. Living for others, to see another lead a life you helped them to reach, strive for, and achieve. Living so that others may live better than one could ever dream of._

Laughter, giggles and chuckles and outright roaring, catches your attention, pulling it toward a group of young adults. Teens? Who knows. Some are tall, more are short, and a few are 'average', whatever that is. Some joke, judging from them solemnly repeating words, then breaking down into their own particular laugh. A quivering mouth, small smiles, wide grins, heads shaking in amusement, and a few bent over, struggling to regain control.

Eventually, they do manage to stand upright again, and the group strolls along, multiple conversations going on at once, but coming together occasionally in a storm of various thoughts and opinions, then breaking off as they were before.

_Humans are social beings. To be with another, to grow beside each other, helping to build each other up, be there when needed... or to simply be. So many things to be done together, learning from the best and worst. Constantly shifting pieces, yet always connected, the memory of being joined never entirely forgotten, never completely left behind._

A hand enters your vision. Looking up, you see him, smiling, and you respond in kind. Gently, you take his hand and stand, keeping your eyes on him. He tilts his head, asking a silent question, which you respond to with a single nod. Together, you make your way, down the street, until you two become one with so many more.


End file.
